


my bunker underneath the surface

by carefulren



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, brief mentions of drugs, mentions of abuse, protect JJ at all costs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: When JJ goes missing, John B finds him surfing and broken and bruised, and he stays to pick up the pieces.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	my bunker underneath the surface

John B’s phone barely makes it through the first ring when Kiara picks up, voice harsh and frantic, with Pope shouting in the background.

_“John B! Did you find him?”_

_“Did he find him?”_

_“That’s what I’m asking!”_

With the chilly wind whipping briskly about him, tugging his hair in all directions, and the waves roaring in response to the pending storm, John B can barely hear his friends on the other line. “Yeah,” he mutters, squinting against the dark to see JJ gliding across a large, unsteady wave, with an even bigger one swelling behind it.

_“Where? Do you want us to meet you at your place?”_

John B’s not sure when he realized, but knowing JJ as long as he has, he’s developed this uncanny ability to determine JJ’s mood based on the fluidity of his surfing, and tonight, though tackling the merciless waves of an oncoming storm, JJ’s surfing appears borderline flawless. He’s moving carefully, deliberately, as if his entire being depends on the rise and calculated fall of each wave.

“Nah,” he answers, glancing up when lightning sparks across the sky, followed very quickly by a loud crack of thunder. “I don’t think he’s going to be up for much company.”

His breath catches when JJ slips from his board, and his heart begins pumping impossibly fast as he refuses to take air into his lungs. He starts forward, legs shaking, thunder and lightning rolling loudly overheard, but then JJ surfaces, and John B breathes out a long, unsteady breath.

_“John B?”_

John B waits until JJ’s walking back toward land to answer. “It’s fine,” he mutters, nervous, afraid of what dark, painful colors he’s bound to see. “I’ve got him.”

_“Okay, but—Pope, what the hell! Give me the phone!”_

_“John B, call us the second you need us, okay?”_

“Of course,” John B mumbles into the speaker before ending the call.

He stays grounded, jaw clenched tightly, as JJ starts toward him, his expression unreadable in the dark. Lightning cracks overhead once more, casting everything in a sharp glow, and in those two, illuminated seconds, John B can make out the deep purple bruising splattered across JJ’s stomach, stretching all the way to his ribs.

A hot tightness spreads across John B’s chest, but he swallows back the encompassing rage, choosing instead to breathe steady and meet JJ halfway, already slipping out of his jacket.

“Give me the board.”

Wordlessly, JJ hands the board over, and John B holds his jacket out, unsurprised to see JJ shivering slightly in the wind. Despite the storm loudly growing closer, he doesn’t miss the sharp hiss when JJ moves to slip his arms through the jacket sleeves, but he opts not to address it now, instead keeping close to JJ as they make the five minute walk back to the house.

John B wishes, more than anything, that this routine wasn’t so familiar, that it wasn’t etched like a dark stain in his memory. Yet, JJ’s dad is ruthless, and JJ doesn’t address it, leaving John B and the others always in the dark, always on the outskirts waiting to pick up the pieces.

John B leads JJ through his house to the bathroom, stopping only to prop the board against a wall, and JJ, moving solely through familiar muscle memory, drops down on the edge of John B’s bathtub and sheds the jacket when John B flicks the light on.

It’s worse, John B thinks, than he initially thought. Along with the deep purple and black bruising splattered across JJ’s torso, he has dark marks wrapped around his neck, dark, painted shadows of fingers, and there’s a small gash jutting down to just above his right eye.

John B’s face grows hot, his vision fading red, and he keeps himself silent, afraid of what might come out of his mouth, as he drops to a crouch in front of JJ to begin his inspection.

His hand brushes along some of the lighter bruising, frowning at JJ’s cold skin underneath his palm, and he stops above the ribs and applies pressure, stopping when JJ sucks in a sharp gasp.

“Don’t,” he almost growls out, and John B whips his gaze up to see that JJ’s paled significantly. “That fucking hurts.”

“Your surfed like this,” John B points out flatly, standing up and wrapping gentle fingers around JJ’s jaw to guide his face in the direction he needs.

“Yeah, adrenaline, or whatever.”

John B takes a step back, his stomach sinking when JJ finally locks eyes with him for the first time since they made it to the house. JJ’s eyes often speak for him, and John B reads the wide, pained desperation that never manifests into words.

“We need to keep an eye on your ribs.”

“Noted, doctor.” JJ stands, teeth clenched the entire way up, and he keeps one hand planted firmly against the wall beside him, not trusting his legs, or his pounding head. He shivers when cold water drips from his hair to his bare shoulders.

“It’s fucking cold.”

“Do you want to shower?”

JJ shakes his head. “I kind of just want to sleep for the next three days.” He starts past John B, making his way to the couch, but John B reaches out, breaking the familiar routine, and wraps gentle fingers around JJ’s wrist.

“You can sleep in the bed. It’ll be warmer and better for your ribs.”

“John B, no. I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch in your own house.”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” John B slips past JJ to his bedroom and drops onto his bed, patting the empty side with an easy smile.

JJ leans carefully against the doorframe, both brows arched, and he crosses his arms over his bare chest, wincing slightly. “John B.”

“Come on, JJ,” John B pushes gently as he tugs the blankets down. “It’s just like third grade.”

“Except the fact that we’ve grown, and there won’t be any room to move.” JJ fires back, a small smile creeping at his lips.

“True, but you don’t need to do a lot of moving anyway,” John B gestures toward his own stomach, and JJ’s eyes fall to the floor, and he hugs himself a little tighter, a defensive move he wishes hasn’t become such a habit.

“Look, JJ, you sleep where you will be comfortable. But, I’d rather you sleep in here where I can keep a close eye on you—make sure that cut on your head isn’t infected and you can still breathe normally with your ribs.”

JJ considers it, and he glances over his shoulder, strongly considering the couch because he doesn’t want to force John B to witness what’s bound to be a long night filled with horrible dreams that’ll no doubt have him tossing and turning. But, he’s exhausted—mentally and physically, and John B’s bed is a lot closer. He pads slowly toward the bed, and John B’s gentle hands help guide him down onto his back and pull the covers up to his chin.

“Warm enough?”

“Yeah,” JJ mutters as John B’s natural heat begins to warm him significantly.

“How do you feel?”

“Like hell,” JJ whispers, voice cracking slightly, and John B shifts around until he’s laying a warm, steady palm to his chest, overly cautious of any bruising.

“We’ll get you some of the good drugs tomorrow.”

“All you have is ibuprofen and Gatorade.”

“I was thinking more of the blunt kind,” John B mutters, smiling when JJ laughs painfully.

“Stop, it literally hurts to laugh.”

“Sorry, sorry. Try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll be here the entire time.”

“You sound like a stalker,” JJ mutters, but the warmth that spreads across his chest has him smiling genuinely for the first time all day, and he relaxes against John B’s old bed, focusing on the steady breaths beside him as he drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just excited about the season 2 announcement and still sad about JJ, so I wrote a thing. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated :)
> 
> Title taken from "Level of Concern" by Twenty One Pilots


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